


stuck (not on you, in a closet)

by ivorysteel



Series: SamBucky Bingo [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Trapped, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 06:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorysteel/pseuds/ivorysteel
Summary: Sam and Bucky get trapped in a closet on a mission. Sam's madly in love with Bucky. What could go wrong?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: SamBucky Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216829
Comments: 16
Kudos: 173





	stuck (not on you, in a closet)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a quick practice but turned into 2500+ words lmao. also i need to write in a bucky pov for once in my life, maybe next time.

Sam stares out of the jet window, his eyes focused on the rising sun. “Pretty,” Bucky comments, nudging his arm, and Sam turns to look at him.

The orange light is falling across Bucky’s face, lighting up his smile, and Sam’s heart stutters in his chest at the sight of it. They’d shorn his long hair off a few weeks ago and as much as Sam had loved his long hair, he loved his new hair too. It had grown a little since then, too, his hair curling over the tops of his ears. Sam coughs, turning away to look back out of the window. “Almost there,” he says instead of responding to Bucky with something too revealing.

“Are you nervous?” Bucky’s hands travel to Sam’s leg and he jolts in surprise, looking down to find Bucky tightening the holster just above his knee. “Don’t want you to fall out of your wings,” he says softly, tapping the tucked-up wings on Sam’s back.

“I don’t know. Breaking a leg and having you wait on me hand and foot sounds good. I bet you give a mean massage.” Bucky elbows his side and Sam fakes an outraged cry, kicking him in the ankle in retaliation. Bucky giggles and Sam’s heart does the stupid flip in his chest again. As he always is, when Bucky is laughing over some dumb sitcom or asking Sam what he wants for dinner, Sam is speechless. “Are _you_ nervous?” Sam lands on.

“I always am before missions.” Bucky leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as the descent starts, Sharon talking about co-ordinates to the SHIELD pilot guy. “Even super soldiers get scared, Sammy.”

“What are you scared of?”

Bucky cracks an eye open and observes him. Sam feels oddly vulnerable, the morning light making it hard to make out the expression on Bucky’s face. “Your morning breath,” he says and Sam snorts. _Moment ruined_.

“Shut up.” Sam snorts and moves out of the sun to find Sharon watching them, smiling. “We almost there?”

“Jumping off into the drop-off point in T minus two minutes,” she says. “It’s a standard mission, boys. In and out. Got a SHIELD team on the ground already.”

“In and out.” Sam nods and breathes out.

The mission is going smoothly, Sam attacking from the air, Sharon working on extracting the hostages, and Bucky trying to find the office in the facility to steal the files, when Sam lands on a balcony, catching his breath. The SHIELD reinforcements had come in, along with an attack helicopter, so his job is being done for him. Sharon’s capable enough and his stomach is thrumming with nerves, so he edges into the building, deciding to look for Bucky.

He follows the sound of the quiet thuds of bodies hitting the ground. It only takes a minute to find him, dragging a body into an empty room. “They know you’re here?” Sam whispers, holding his hands up in surrender so Bucky doesn’t shoot him in surprise.

“Not yet. I've got the USB.” Bucky flashes him the small metal stick then tucks it back in his pocket. “Trying to remain undetected though, so I don’t end up losing it. Are you good?” Bucky touches his arm like he’s trying to discern if he’s injured.

“I’m good, Buck.” Sam taps his hand then turns his head. There’s a sound coming towards them like...footsteps, he realizes, his stomach dropping. More than ten. Bucky tenses beside him, his hand moving to touch his gun, but Sam has a better plan.

He grabs Bucky and drags him into the nearby cupboard, shutting the door firmly behind them just as the footsteps reach the corridor.

“They should be somewhere around here,” someone says. “Find the Winter Soldier. He has the hard drive. And Falcon has not been seen for a few minutes. He could be anywhere, and he’s dangerous. They both are.”

“What about the woman?” Another voice asks. “She’s with the hostages.” Bucky bristles at the mention of Sharon and Sam holds his breath.

“Leave them,” the first person replies. “We do not need the hostages now. Let the woman and SHIELD save them. The hard drive is more important.”

Sam’s shoulders sag in relief that Sharon can get the job finished and get out of there without much harm and he turns his attention back to their current situation. They’re in a small cupboard with no light and Bucky firmly locked against him. Bucky’s back is pressed against his side, putting them at an awkward angle. Sam forces himself to swallow down the apprehension in his throat in exchange for chuckling, his voice hoarse.

“You come here often?” Sam asks, and he can sense Bucky’s grimace even in the darkness. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

“Can we leave yet?” Bucky says and Sam starts when he feels Bucky’s warm breath close to his cheek. “They’re gone.” In his distraction being this close to Bucky, he’d forgotten about the people outside. It’s quiet now, with only the occasional sound of distant fighting, and Sam breathes out in relief.

“Wait.” Sam moves enough so Bucky can reach the door handle. It jiggles but Bucky doesn’t make a move to get them out of the cupboard. “Bucky,” Sam says, panic scratching at his throat. He can tell what is happening without either of them having to spell it out. The only thing that could inevitably happen when you’re in a tight space with the man you’re in love with. “We’re locked in.”

“Yeah.” Bucky clears his throat and tries to slam his shoulder against the metal door but only succeeds in jamming his arm into Sam’s spine.

“Bucky! Buck! Damn. _Ow_. Calm down.” Sam tries to rest a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder but Bucky twists away from him. Sam’s heart plays a drumming beat in his chest with panic. Shuri might have gotten the Winter Soldier out of Bucky’s head but it isn’t that simple. It isn’t a bomb they can defuse. It’s more like a downpour of rain. You can hold up an umbrella, wear a coat, shelter, but eventually some is going to slip through. Eventually, there might be sun but not yet. Not today. “Buck, we can’t get out, okay? You need to breathe.”

“I want to get out,” Bucky says but his voice is deflated, and he sinks into Sam’s grip. Sam fumbles round for a light switch and finds a rope hanging down from the ceiling. He pulls it and finds Bucky blinking wearily at him, his lips stretched out in a taut grimace. Sam’s skin burns with the urge to touch Bucky’s mouth, the lines around his eyes, to reassure him of a dozen lifetimes’ worth of worries. Instead, he takes his hand back and rests his head against the uncomfortable shelves.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky mutters then slams his fist against the door. Sam stays quiet and Bucky turns to him as much as he can in the confined space, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a wry smile. “Sorry. I don’t like small spaces. Or the dark,” he adds, his eyes flickering up to the light above them. Sam thinks about the soft glow of Bucky’s nightlight – it’s a moon that lives in a stationary orbit on the table by Bucky’s bed, a Christmas present from Sam’s sister.

“My comms is off,” Sam says, hearing the buzz in his ear. “Give me a second.” He manages to maneuver his arm up to his ear, ignoring how close he had come to brushing Bucky’s stomach with the tips of his fingers. He clicks the switch at the back of his comms unit. Sharon’s voice fades in, saying his name, Bucky’s name, calling for help to locate them. “Sharon. Carter. We’re here. I’m here.”

“Is Bucky with you?” She asks, sounding relieved.

“Yeah. He’s here.” Sam glances at Bucky whose leaning forward to hear Sharon. His own comms unit is mangled, almost falling off his ear, and Sam worries for a second, wonders if he’s been injured in a fight. “We’re fine. Locked in a cupboard. We’re on the—uh…third floor by the stairwell?”

“Fourth,” Bucky says. Sam repeats it and Sharon makes a noise of affirmation.

“On my way.” There’s an echoing crash from the other end of the comms and Sharon groans. “Uh, give me five minutes. FBI have arrived.” The comms returns to the familiar ocean static and Sam tries to get his hand down. Bucky has shifted at some point in the last minute and his hand hits Bucky’s jaw.

“Sorry.” Bucky moves a little, but they’re stuck now, the shelves digging into their shoulders, as Bucky faces him. They’re chest to chest and Sam doesn’t know if it’s paranoia but it feels like the cupboard has gotten smaller, the walls closing in on his chest. “Shit.” Sam closes his eyes as if that can get him away from here. He can’t do this – can’t stay locked into Bucky’s chest as the naked bulb flickers above them. If he’s thought about this situation before, which he has, it had been somewhere nicer. A ski lodge, trapped in by snow, fire burning, and Bucky would look at him and confess…confess what? Sam’s eyes snap open and he’s faced with the actual Bucky. Not lit up by soft firelight, draped in furs. His skin is pale and tainted yellow, blood soaked into his jacket sleeve, the shadow of a ‘stache on his upper lip.

“It’s meant to be me that’s scared of small spaces,” Bucky says, huffing out a laugh.

“It’s not the space, it’s you,” Sam replies then regrets it, watching Bucky’s eyes widen, his body try and almost imperceptibly shift away from him. “No. It’s not…I didn’t mean…I’m not scared of _you_.” _I’m scared of me, of what I’d do to you if I had the courage, or maybe courage is the wrong word. What I’d do to you if I was as good as you are._ Because Sam isn’t a good person, and doesn’t try to pretend otherwise, but Bucky is good. Bucky is so good that he could touch heaven and get away with it. Sam doesn’t dare touch Bucky with anything but good platonic intention.

“What are you scared of then?” Bucky asks. Sam had asked the same question only an hour or two before and Bucky had observed him with an indescribable look on his face. Sam wonders how he looks now, if his love is written all over his face, or if he’s managed to successfully mask what he feels. The former, he guesses, watching Bucky’s small smile. He can’t tell if it’s patronizing, or angry, or…he lets go of the small hope bubbling in his chest as Bucky moves as far away from him as he can, given the close quarters. “I’ll answer first,” Bucky says, his voice faint, barely audible. “I’m scared of us.”

“Us.”

Bucky nods and Sam doesn’t know whether to be ecstatic or terrified. “I’m scared we’ll fail. I’m scared we’ll fuck up and the consequences are massive now, Sam.” His voice is gravelly, like it is in the mornings when they have breakfast together. “Not just Earth consequences but universal consequences.” Bucky’s eyes flit upwards like he can see the mass of stars and galaxies they could fuck up with one failed mission. “And I’m scared…I’m scared that you don’t love me.”

“I have never not loved you,” Sam says immediately, although it’s not exactly true. They had bickered a lot until Steve had died and suddenly Sam was suggesting a shared apartment in Brooklyn, and trips to the farmer’s market and dinners at his ma’s house. “You’re…you’re my best friend. Of course, I love you.” The confession is painful, the tip of the iceberg, the rest of the ice is flooding Sam’s body, leaving him cold. _I love you, and I love you more, and a little more, and enough that you’re all I think about_.

“I’m scared of that, too,” Bucky says. His eyes are intense, trained on Sam’s face, and if Sam’s being delusional, his mouth. “That all you do is see me as your best friend. And if I…if—” Bucky swallows. “That you won’t even see me as that, if you know.”

“If I know what?” Sam’s hope has returned, triumphantly crowning in his ribcage. Either Bucky’s about to confess to murder or he’s about tell Sam something else. Everything melts away in a way he’s only read about in the romance novels he guiltily indulges in. They’re not in a closet, in some terrorist base. They’re suspended in space, just him and Bucky and the static in his ear reminding him that Sharon’s on her way. If Bucky manages to get out of this now, he’ll never know. Bucky will retreat into his shell for another year and Sam will be left in space by himself. “Bucky, whatever you’re going to tell me – just know that I…I have something to tell you, too.”

“Same time?” Bucky suggests and Sam’s stomach flips.

“Same time,” he confirms. “Three. Two.”

“One.”

“I’m in love with you,” Sam says, rushing, at the same time as Bucky’s identical announcement. They stare at each other for a second, and Sam is bowled over with the sheer force of love he feels for this stupid man. “Oh,” Sam says, an hysterical giggle escaping his lips. “Well,” he adds.

“Down bad,” Bucky says and Sam’s giggle turns into full-blown laughter.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Peter.”

“Damn kid.” Sam stops laughing suddenly, and his heart concaves in his chest. _We’re finally here_ , he thinks, as Bucky smiles at him dopily. “Come here,’ he says and Bucky leans forward like he’s been waiting for the instruction from the moment he was born. The second their lips press together, Sam opening his mouth in an embarrassing gasp because Bucky is pressed _close_ , the door swings open and Bucky lurches back as much as he can, bright red.

“You guys good?” Sharon asks, smirking. Sam makes a mental note to put salt in her water or something as Bucky stumbles out of the closet, finally taking the comms piece from his ear. Sam follows, slightly smoother, and frowns at the ruined metal.

“I never asked. What happened to that?”

“Oh, I got approached by some guy.” Bucky shrugs off Sam’s concern and for a second, Sam freezes, worried that that’s it and they’ll never mention their lapse again, then Bucky meets his gaze and slings an arm around his shoulders, kisses his forehead. “I’m _fine_ , Sam,” he says in that infuriating voice he does whenever Sam is worried about something totally valid. Bucky is allowed to gripe about everything on the planet but the second Sam matches his energy, Bucky acts like he’s totally insane for being worried about something like Bucky jumping off a ten-storey building. “He only had a knife but it’s only a small stab wound.”

“A small _what_?” Sam screeches, stepping back to find Bucky looking bemused.

“It’s tiny.” He says, pulling up his t-shirt to show Sam a bloody wound in his side.

“We’re breaking up.” Sam decides, storming ahead. Bucky follows, laughing.

“It’ll heal!”

“You got _stabbed_.”

“Does this mean I’m your boyfriend?”

“No.”

Bucky’s laugh follows him down the corridor and Sam smiles to himself, thanking whoever made that goddamn closet door.


End file.
